


with mirth in funeral and dirge in marriage

by basil



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, IF YOU ARE MY ROOMMATE GO AWAY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basil/pseuds/basil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only way to keep Daenerys from executing Tommen is for Sansa to claim him as her husband, wanting desperately to keep the sweet, chubby 9-year-old who treated her well safe. Never wanting a true marriage after years of abuse, Sansa is surprised when Tommen grows up to be as handsome as his uncle/father, twice as gallant, and eager to prove to Sansa what a wonderful, true husband he can be.</p>
<p>From this prompt on the kinkmeme: http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=4878084#t4878084\</p>
            </blockquote>





	with mirth in funeral and dirge in marriage

**Author's Note:**

> In my head!canon, Tommen is kind of like Owen of Jesslaw from Tamora Pierce's books: a boy with curly hair who uses the word 'jolly' a lot and becomes a really kickass knight in the end.
> 
> (more of my personal Tommen head!canon can be read here: http://lifeofbasil.livejournal.com/1793.html)

"Sansa," weeps Tommen, face buried in her skirts. "Sansa, they  _killed_ Cella--they cut off her head! I couldn't stop them. Why would they kill her? I hate them, I hate them. I hate  _her."_  
  
 _Her,_ Sansa knows, is the Dragon Queen, and she too hates what has been done to sweet Myrcella, but there will be time to  mourn later.   
  
"Tommen, sweetling, you must listen to me. The queen will spare you -- Tommen, look at me -- the queen will spare you if we wed. Afterwards, we shall go to Winterfell. You will be safe there."  
  
Tommen smiles, for the first time in longer than Sansa would care to think about.  
  
"I think being married to you would be awfully jolly, Sansa."  
  
\---  
  
Being married to Sansa, Tommen finds, is really quite nice. Sometimes they have lemoncakes in her solar, and other times they play with Ser Pounce and Lady Whiskers, both large, fat creatures with kittens of their own now.   
  
When he's not with Sansa his does his lessons with the Maester, or he trains with Ser Jon in the courtyard. Ser Jon's name is actually Jon Snow, and he's Sansa's bastard brother. He isn't actually a Ser either. Sansa says she tried to knight him but he said no. Instead he's Lord Protector of Winterfell and the North.  
  
Tommen calls him Ser anyway, because he's strong and brave and honorable, and just because he's a bastard and not a Ser on the outside doesn't mean he isn't one inside.  
  
Someday, he wants to be just like Ser Jon.   
  
All in all, he quite likes Winterfell. Everyone is nice, and though it's cold and snowy all the time the castle is always warm and cheerful. Sometimes he misses Cella, and Mother, and Uncle Tyrion and Uncle Jaime, but he doesn't dare ask about anyone anymore, for if the queen was awful enough to cut off Cella's head, who knows what she would do to Mother.  
  
He asked just once, when they'd first arrived, if Mother was dead.  
  
“I do not know,” Sansa had said. “But if she is not I do not doubt she wishes she were.”  
  
And that was the end of that conversation.  
  
\---  
  
Tommen likes Winterfell and the North, which is why he's quite upset when he is sent away to Riverrun to foster.  
  
“I'm not a boy,” he says. “Well, not just a boy anyway—I'm your lord husband. Doesn't that mean I can't be fostered?   
  
“I would not call it a fostering,” says Sansa. “You must learn to be a knight from someone, and Jon is only one man, with many duties. We have no true knights here, only old men, boys, and sellswords. My uncle Edmure and his master-at-arms will be better equipped than we.”  
  
(That's a lie.  
  
“He must go,” Jon tells her. “You cannot bed a boy you see as a brother.”  
  
This is true. And doubtless Daenerys will want an heir, and though Sansa knows Bran and Rickon are alive and well, somewhere, others need a spare for security's sake.  
  
After Joffrey and Petyr it's hard to imagine having a true husband, lying with them and giving them children, without feeling ill. But Tommen is still a boy, and it's hard to imagine him as a grown man, let alone a real husband.   
  
Jon thinks she views Tommen as her brother. He's wrong. She sees him as a mother would see her son, wanting to smooth back his curls and kiss his plump cheeks. But Jon is right in that she could not think of bedding him, ever. Some time apart would be good for their farce of a marriage.  
  
“I'll send him to Riverrun. Until he's six-and-ten at least. And only then will we speak of bedding.”)  
  
\---  
  
Tommen looks very small on his horse, bundled in his furs. She wishes there was someplace closer to send him.   
  
Riverrun is very far away and travel is dangerous, especially when she has few men-at-arms to spare, but she will not send Tommen to the Twins, nor to Greywater Watch which has no maester nor a master-at-arms, even if it could be found...  
  
“Will you write me, Sansa?”  
  
“Of course, sweetling. I shall send a raven once a week. Will you write back to me if you have the time?”  
  
“I will always have time to write you,” says Tommen, sounding shocked at the very idea that he would not have time. “I will make time to write. You are my lady wife!”  
  
Sansa laughs at his gallantry, trying hard not to think of Tommen's first lady wife, Margaery, dead at Cersei's hand.  
  
“Be careful on the road, Tommen,” she says, forcing a smile.   
  
“I will, I promise. Sansa, may I kiss you goodbye?”  
  
Sansa turns her face and he kisses her on the cheek. It is a sweet kiss, a little boy's kiss. She will miss little Tommen.  
  
 _When I next see him, he will not be a child any longer.  
  
\---_

At first the letters come often, full of news of Edmure, Roslin, their children, and the litter of kittens that lives in the stables, but over time they slow until they only arrive once every few moons.   
  
Edmure writes also, letters detailing Tommen's progress with sword and lance. Apparently he inherited his father's talent, though it is hard to think of Tommen being anything like Jaime. After a while, though, even these letters arrive less frequently.  
  
To distract herself, Sansa immerses herself in the mighty task of rebuilding Winterfell. Spring is coming, and while the warm weather and flowers will be welcome, the melting snow will pose some difficulties. There may be floods, and the foundations of weakened buildings must be reinforced to prevent collapse.   
  
She does not allow herself to miss Tommen in the same way she does not allow herself to consider the possibility that all her siblings are dead.  
  
 _\---_  
  
Spring is in the air, and Tommen likes Riverrun. Or at least that what he writes in his letters to Sansa. It is not all bad: there are other boys here and now he is finally allowed to play. Winterfell also had lots of beets, because beets keep very well in the cold, but there are seldom beets at Riverrun.   
  
The cook, Mya, has a soft spot for him. When he has time, he'll go down to the kitchens to see if she's got any lemon cakes. Between bites, she tells him about the war, how the Freys tricked King Robb and slaughtered him during Edmure and Roslin's wedding.   
  
How he and his siblings are not his father's children, and how many people have died.   
  
(Somehow, the deaths are harder to hear about than his own questionable paternity: Robert was never much of a father. Always deep in his cups, he was utterly indifferent to them—until they did something wrong, when he'd give them a smack.  
  
Uncle Jaime was always happy and laughing, with sweets for Tommen and a pretty doll for Cella.   
  
Uncle Jaime loved them very much.)  
  
It explains why Lord Edmure and Lady Roslin look at him oddly sometimes. Actually, everyone looks at him oddly. Because he's a Lannister, and most everyone hates Lannisters.  
  
(Fatty Tommen, the other boys call him.   
  
Tommen the Lannister bastard. Baby Tommen, when he's disarmed by little Gannen, who is only eight. He is much stronger now, and quick with his blade, but talent cannot make up for the years of almost no training in King's Landing.  
  
Tommen with no honor.)  
  
He can claim no honor through his family—only by his own words and deeds. Let them mock him now, but he is almost a man and when he is grown he will be the greatest knight in the seven kingdoms, so when people say Lannister they think not of Queen Cersei, who fucked her brother, but of Ser Tommen the valiant. He will be a worthy husband for Sansa.  
  
And it is this thought that gives him the strength to lift his weighted practice sword for one final bout.  
  
\---  
  
It has been spring for three years and summer for another three when a raven comes with a delicately worded order from the Queen asking Sansa to a tourney at White Harbor, and Winterfell answers.   
  
Sansa is no longer the girl who believed in the stories, and the sight of all the knights looking bright and honorable makes her stomach turn sour. She knows better than anyone that these handsome, tall knights are nothing like the ones in the songs.   
  
There is one knight who wears a helm, and his shield is white as snow. He acquits himself well, winning all of his bouts. Indeed, his sword moves so fast it would have been hard to see, were it not for the bright summer sun flashing on the polished steel.   
  
“They've called a recess,” observes Alysane, rocking her newest babe. She won't name the father, but it looks suspiciously like one of the younger Umbers. “Look, here comes the mystery knight. Are you not intrigued, Sansa?”  
  
Sansa looks up from her needlework as the knight reins in his horse before her. He pushes his visor back, and for a moment Sansa thinks that Jaime Lannister has risen from the dead, but the specter grins happily and says, “Sansa!”  
  
“Tommen.” The sewing falls unnoticed to the ground and her laugh sounds almost like a sob as she throws her arms about his neck. “I would not have known you.”  
  
He is the very image of his father, but Tommen's eyes are full of youthful energy where Jaime's were world-weary, and he is the image of the knights from the stories, if Sansa still believed in them. He holds out his lance for a favor, very gallantly. Several ladies swoon.  
  
“Tommen, I would give you a favor to wear, but I have nothing. I was not expecting you to compete.”  
  
“Could I have a kiss from my lady wife instead?” asks Tommen, looking so terribly noble that it is hard to resist.  
  
So Sansa leans forward, smiling, to give her husband his kiss.  
  
He looks nothing like the boy she sent away, she reflects later, as he places the crown of roses on her head. But though he's a knight now, handsome, tall, and strong, he's still Tommen, and it is this that makes her think that they could be happy together.  
  
And they are.  
  
Exceedingly so.


End file.
